


the hurt cannot be much

by MercutioLives



Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, Romeo et Juliette - Presgurvic, Rómeó és Júlia (Színház)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Blood, Gen, Injury, M/M, Mercutio is a little shit, Pre-Canon, Romeo is so done, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 09:30:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2542736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercutioLives/pseuds/MercutioLives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>"To find Mercutio in his bedroom, lounging or asleep on his bed, was no strange thing... The strange (or, more accurately,</em> terrifying<em>) thing was all the blood."</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	the hurt cannot be much

**Author's Note:**

  * For [privatesnarker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/privatesnarker/gifts).



> This is a crosspost from my [Tumblr](http://mercutiodreams.tumblr.com/), the result of a fic meme in which the prompt was "Romeo + "Rage" ? Bonus points if it's not about him killing Tybalt".

To find Mercutio in his bedroom, lounging or asleep on his bed, was no strange thing: their friendship was largely based on breaking into one another’s rooms while the other was absent — or otherwise invading each other’s personal space in ways that most people would find wholly inappropriate and even indecent. So no, it was not at all strange to find Mercutio sleeping like the dead atop his duvet. The strange (or, more accurately,  _terrifying_ ) thing was all the blood.

His friend’s name left his lips more hoarsely than he’d have liked as he reached out to nudge at Mercutio’s shoulder. The answering stillness brought with it a wave of cold fear, but another, sharper nudge caused Mercutio to start and mumble. He blinked and rubbed at his eyes, smearing blood across them, making him resemble nothing so much as a macabre raccoon. It might have been funny, except Mercutio then winced and inhaled sharply.

"Mercutio," Romeo repeated, grasping for his friend’s hands, cold and sticky as they were. "Who did this? Where are you hurt?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, well. Perhaps I’d gotten into a bit of a scuffle with some of our Capulet friends," Mercutio replied with a lightness to his tone that was probably supposed to quell Romeo’s fear, but only served to spark in him something stronger. "It’s not so bad as it looks. Most of the blood’s not mine, in any case. Grant you, I suppose I  _have_  ruined your bedding, haven’t I? And not in any enjoyable fashion.” He plucked at his doublet, sodden with blood that may or may not have come from his own body, and flapped his hand dismissively.

"Damned fool! You’re hurt, I can see it, and you’re just lying about, making  _jokes?_ Have you not even been to see a surgeon?” The anger that rode the backs of his words startled him — as it did Mercutio, he was grimly gratified to see — but he felt that it was anger rightly deserved. What right did Mercutio have to play games with his very life? He’d been injured in fights before, but to simply lie here in Romeo’s bed, bleeding out like some misaligned martyr and laughing about it all the while, was more than Romeo could bear. He left his friend for only as long as it took to send his man to fetch a surgeon, and was back at his side before Mercutio could even think to consider his egress options.

"Don’t you think for a moment that I’ve forgiven you for this. Damn you, don’t pretend to be asleep, I can tell the difference!" A grin broke out slowly over Mercutio’s face, and that — that was more than Romeo could take. His fist flew out and struck Mercutio’s jaw before he could think to hold himself back. The angle was bad, and there wasn’t much strength in it, but it did its job: Mercutio gaped at him, shocked to the core that mild, gentle Romeo of all people could do such a thing. Perhaps it served to teach him a lesson for the moment as well, for there was no jesting to follow it. He didn’t look quite contrite, but neither did he seem inclined to tease. He merely shrugged and settled back against the pillows, waiting for the arrival of the surgeon.

By the time all was said and done (the wound was not so severe, as Mercutio had said; he would heal quickly enough) Romeo’s rage was not quite banked, but nor was it augmented by fear any longer. Servants came to strip the bed and replace the ruined bedclothes with fresh, and after, because he was in no fit state to carry himself to the other end of the city to his own bed, Romeo permitted Mercutio to once again fall asleep in his. It didn’t feel strange at all to curl up beside his friend for a nap, but when cold fingers curled around his, he was indeed surprised. He opened his eyes to find Mercutio gazing intently at him with an expression more sober than Romeo thought he’d ever seen on his jester of a companion.

"Did I wake you?" Like his face, Mercutio’s tone was soft and uncommonly serious. Romeo could not manage a reply, so only shook his head dumbly. The smile that twisted Mercutio’s lips was wry, perhaps the tiniest bit bitter. It was too strange, and made Romeo uncomfortable. This was not the Mercutio he knew.

"You lie. And you’re still angry with me." This, Romeo would concede.

"A little, yes. What possessed you to come here before seeing to your wound?" Mercutio shrugged, which might have once again sparked Romeo’s ire, but for the fact that at the same time, his friend had squeezed his hand very slightly.

"What possesses one to do anything? You were nearest by, and as you saw, the hurt was not so much. I had meant to see you anyway, but I was accosted first, and I could not but answer the challenge at your very doorstep. Dear Romeo, don’t be cross with me. I confess I am a fool, but I am ever your fool." Mercutio batted his eyes at Romeo, which prompted him to chuckle in spite of himself.

He opened his mouth to retort, but whatever he might have said was swallowed by the press of Mercutio’s lips upon his. Unlike his hands, they were warm, slightly chapped but startlingly soft. In spite of this softness, they were nothing like any of the women’s lips Romeo had heretofore kissed. They were different, daring and seeking for all that the kiss was chaste as the kiss of a kinsman — yet Romeo could sense that it was not meant as a kiss between brothers. His lack of response seemed to discourage Mercutio, who pulled away and muttered something that Romeo, for the blood buzzing in his ears, couldn’t comprehend.

"What?" he asked lamely. Mercutio seemed unperturbed, if a bit sad.

"Nothing, my dear simpleton. Do go back to sleep, and when you wake, find that it has all been a dream." It was an unsatisfying reply, but the only one that it seemed he would receive, for Mercutio then shut his eyes and rolled gingerly onto his other side so that his back was to Romeo’s front. Eventually, Romeo did sleep, and when he woke, found that his friend was nowhere to be seen. The only proof that it was not — as Mercutio had claimed — merely a dream was the small spot of blood on the sheet where Mercutio had lain. He couldn’t say why his stomach dropped to find that stain was dry and the place cold, or why his lips tingled to remember a kiss that he wasn’t entirely certain had been real.


End file.
